


One Night Stands Are For Suckers

by sandpapersnowman



Series: Charley Brewster: Blood Donor [1]
Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 12:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8327890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: The arrangement is simple; Charley lets him feed off of him when he needs to, and Jerry doesn't kill his mother, his ex girlfriend, or anyone else he cares about.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguiniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguiniel/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】One Night Stands Are For Suckers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12341364) by [liangdeyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liangdeyu/pseuds/liangdeyu)



> written for my Wife who also finished a fic in turn for me finishing this!!! hell yeah bich!!!!!!! 
> 
> the title is Bad and way less funny than it was at like 4 am when i was finishing this

The arrangement is simple; Charley lets him feed off of him when he needs to, and Jerry doesn't kill his mother, his ex girlfriend, or anyone else he cares about.

Sometimes, Jerry brings Ed, too. It’s weird, and not something he likes to dwell on; Jerry feeds from his neck or chest or wrist, and then Ed drinks from Jerry. He’s desperate and inhuman when it happens, clinging to Jerry’s arm like he’ll die without the diluted, mixed blood that comes from him after, and Charley doesn’t like to watch.

Him and Ed have made their peace, kind of, which he guesses is all he can ask for. He’d been a real asshole and Ed made sure that got driven home the first time Jerry let them chat after Ed’s change. He’s nearly crying once he’s done screaming, letting out every way Charley’s hurt him in the last year and a half, and even Jerry seems surprised at how _human_ Ed looks at the end of it. Jerry pulls him away back to his house with his breath still hitching and his voice hoarse, and Charley stands in Jerry’s driveway with the fresh memory of his best friend cursing and yelling through slowly-growing fangs.

Jerry doesn’t say anything when he comes back out. He just puts his arm over Charley’s shoulders and leads him in and upstairs.

That night, it’s just him and Jerry. He’s oddly gentle about it, all things considered, and as Jerry’s kisses trail up his arm and he wets his teeth to make the bite as numb as he can manage, he thinks, distantly, that he’s sure nobody else gets this kind of treatment.

Maybe Ed asked Jerry to go easy on him, even if he hates him. Maybe Jerry is just that grateful that Charley let himself be threatened into becoming the water bottle snapped onto the cage they’re in.

He’s always too lightheaded to make up any more excuses. What matters is that the people he cares about are safe because he’s Las Vegas’s newest blood donor.

“I’m fine,” he insists, when his mother asks why he’s so pale some mornings.

Nightmares, nausea, headaches -- they’ve all been used to excuse his dizzy steps and his glazed-over gaze. He drinks more water in the first two weeks than he probably has the whole rest of his life, and finds himself Googling tips for people who have just donated blood.

He starts eating food with more iron. He doesn’t know if that’s mostly about healthy blood or about keeping his body functioning without it, but he does it anyway.

(Either way, he swears Jerry’s mouth feels more worshipful than ever once he’s eating red meat almost every day.)

It’s once he starts going out of his way to enrich his blood that Jerry gets…

Well. _Gay_.

All the kissing leading up to the bite was kind of gay already, but this is a whole new level. It’s never been ‘laid out on the bed, shirt hiked up, kissing his stomach and trailing his mouth down to bite his hip’ gay. Probably the only thing gayer would be if Jerry wanted to drink from the artery at the inside of his thigh, and that doesn’t seem like such a far-off possibility at all because Jerry’s mentioned it himself, joking in that ‘maybe not actually joking’ way.

What’s worse is that it’s _not_ worse. Like, he doesn’t mind this. He kind of _likes_ it. It’s totally not homo, and his boner always goes away by the time Jerry’s done drinking, so it’s fine.

The issue tonight is that Jerry’s not usually so far south, and he knows from their own experiences together that the bite that just split at his hip isn’t big enough, deep enough, or placed well enough to get Jerry the kind of blood he needs. So Jerry’s sucking at his hip with his hands on Charley’s thighs, and Charley’s boner won’t go away, and, uh… It’s a Thing.

Jerry licks over the bite to close it, and Charley huffs above him, squirms just a little at the feeling of a tongue on his skin. He bites again to keep feeding, this one a little higher and more toward the squishier parts of him rather than toward his hipbone, and Charley’s fingers twitch in the sheets.

Realistically, down in his primal instincts and all that, he should be scared of Jerry so close to his guts. He wouldn’t be surprised if he could tear his stomach open in one easy movement, and he also wouldn’t be too surprised if he just decided he felt like it and did.

Also realistically, he couldn’t stop him if he tried, so… May as well ignore the anxiety shooting through his spine and telling him to curl in on himself.

Jerry starts licking to close the new bite way too soon.

Charley sits up to ask if they’re done, but one long-nailed hand flattens over his chest and forces him back down on the bed. Guess not.

The sudden movement doesn’t help with how dizzy he is. He thinks he feels Jerry’s hands sliding to his belt, and then undoing his belt buckle and his button and his zipper, but he’s so hazy he could be wrong.

Wait, no. Jerry’s mouth is moving down and in from his hip and his nose is dragging over his stomach and through his pubes. He’s pretty sure the pants stuff just happened.

“Dude,” he whispers.

Jerry doesn’t say anything, just pulls his hips up so he can get his jeans and underwear down his thighs, and then maneuvers Charley’s legs to take them completely off like he doesn’t weigh anything.

“ _Dude,_ ” he whispers again.

Jerry settles back between his legs and looks up at him when he rubs his lips up the base of Charley’s dick. His mouth is open and slick, but Charley doesn’t look long enough to find out if it’s blood or spit in the dark.

“You can’t bite that,” he mutters.

Jerry laughs and it’s weird feeling his breath there. God, all of this is weird. He knows Jerry hasn’t taken enough blood for him to be this out of it yet, so why is he still so pliant and tired?

Jerry’s mouth keeps moving. This should be terrifying, probably, especially when Jerry’s not being shy about rubbing his fangs on his dick while he mouths at it. This should be a lot of things, really: gross, a health hazard, and a literal threat to keeping his dick attached, not to mention the fact that this is his first blowjob and it’s coming from a vampire.

In Jerry’s defense, he does his best to cover his teeth with his lips when he starts sucking over the head and sliding further down. Charley can still feel the hint of his fangs, and there’s nowhere near the amount of pressure there should be and that makes him squirm again, but Jerry’s hands are firm on his hips and even in this state, he knows that trying to buck up for more would probably end badly.

Someone in the room whimpers _’Fuck’_ when Jerry takes most of him in his mouth at once, his fangs relaxed and sheathed enough for him to properly cover his teeth now. The same person, who Charley belatedly realizes must be him, whimpers it again when Jerry swallows over him.

His hands are on Jerry’s head, fingers in his hair, and he doesn’t know if Jerry put them there or if he put them there himself. Either way, Jerry lets him twist his fingers in and pull at him, desperate for Jerry to give him more.

He turns his head to shove his face into Jerry’s pillow as much as he can. Everything feels dreamlike and uncertain, and his mom _is_ next door so he should probably try not to be as loud as he thinks he is.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” he mumbles, muffled by the pillow but still intelligible. He’s never felt like this before. It’s too much. He didn’t know it was possible to feel _this much_.

Jerry sits up to readjust Charley’s thighs around his head. The noise Charley makes is hurt when his cock falls back onto his stomach, wet and aching because _God_ , he didn’t realize how close he was.

He moans when Jerry sinks his teeth into his thigh, the loudest noise yet and maybe the loudest he’s _ever_ been, because he’s hopped up enough now on arousal and adrenaline that the slight sting is just an accessory to the heat in his stomach.

Jerry moans too, low and loud and it shakes right into his veins like it’s replacing the blood his mouth is pulling out. His hands tighten on Charley’s hips, like _he’s_ the one being touched now. Even with him paying enough attention to angle his fingertips so Charley’s skin isn’t punctured, he’s still holding tight enough that the bruises will start blooming the moment he pulls away.

Looking down at Jerry is a mistake; his eyes are closed in ecstasy and his hips are rutting down into the bed every couple seconds, lazy and slow, nowhere near as visibly worked up as Charley must be. As Charley watches him, his hands roam again, one slipping under his ass to hold him up better and the other moving to the outside of his thigh to better brace it against his mouth.

Jerry’s mouth moves slowly over the sore feeling in his thigh. It’s not that he doesn’t seem to be desperate for it, because _wow_ , the way he’s holding his leg like it’s the most precious thing in the world is telling, but it’s _because_ he’s desperate for it. Like he’ll die if he misses even a drop, locked over the wound and nursing at it.

Jerry catches him staring.

“I can _taste_ what you’re feeling, you know that?” Jerry rasps, barely able to give himself a voice through Charley’s blood on his tongue. 

The bite marks on his thigh trickle, but Jerry makes sure he catches them with a couple flat-tongued licks. 

“ _Fuck_ , you’re good, kid.”

Charley isn’t sure he meant to say that second thing, because it comes out like an afterthought and it’s even more broken-up than the first thing, but it’s not like he can speak well enough to make fun of him, so who cares.

“Fuck,” Charley agrees, and finally does something with his hands besides wringing them in the sheets. He doesn’t think about it, just wraps one fist around himself while he’s still slick from Jerry’s mouth, and starts stroking.

Jerry glares up at him like he shouldn’t be doing that, but his pupils are blown wide too and Charley doubts he’s going to stop feeding just to put off him cumming. He sucks harder, enough for Charley to _feel_ the tug of his veins as he pulls out more blood than his body can keep up with. It makes Charley’s fist shake around himself, going faster now because _Christ_ , he’s not going to last much longer and he doesn’t know if Jerry will let him finish once he’s no longer useful in a minute. 

He can’t arch his hips up like he wants to with Jerry’s head between his legs and fangs digging into his thigh, but he _can_ bend his free leg over Jerry’s shoulder to both pull him down harder on his thigh _and_ feel like he’s got some leverage, so that’s what he does.

He can’t look at Jerry anymore, either; his hips are moving harder against the mattress, and for a second, it makes Charley think about Jerry fucking him. He _must_ be good at it, he’s old enough to have learned and he gets Charley hard every time he comes over to let him feed, and Charley’s sure he’s heard noises from over here that _weren’t_ pain.

 _That_ image -- of Jerry pushing his shoulders down to pin him and fucking him on his back, of Jerry shoving his cock into him and talking about how good he feels because it’s too good for him to help himself -- _that_ does it.

He cums onto his stomach and a little on Jerry’s bed, trying to at least be courteous and aim away from where Jerry’s still glued to his skin. Something rational in him also doesn’t doubt Jerry would kill him for getting jizz in his hair, so, it’s that too.

He’s still holding onto his dick and riding it out when Jerry starts licking to close the wound. Charley only notices through the low blood and post-orgasm haze because Jerry’s hand under him slides back to his hip to set him fully down on the bed again and then squeezes, bringing him back to Earth just a little.

He takes his hand off himself to let it fall back beside his head. It’s kind of sticky from Jerry’s saliva and some cum, but whatever, he’ll wash it in a minute.

Jerry sits back up and kneels between his legs, breathing hard too and flushed from fresh blood. He almost looks human.

He’s also got a wet spot soaking through his jeans, and Charley thinks it might just be precum until the hand on Charley’s hip moves to it and he presses down against himself with a shudder.

Charley’s mouth feels dry.

“Did you -- Jesus, did you cum from that?” he breathes out, voice still cracking.

Jerry grins at him. His teeth look lacquered in red; it’d make Charley nervous if he wasn’t distracted by Jerry kneeling between his thighs and holding his dick.

“Like I said,” he sighs, sounding way too content for someone that just came without being touched. “You’re good.”

“I’m not gay,” Charley mutters. Jerry might have taken too much blood this time. He’s never been this close to passing out. The reality-shattering orgasm probably doesn’t help, but whatever.

Jerry snorts and wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t say you were gay.”

Charley doesn’t say anything else. If getting your dick sucked by a dude vampire isn’t a gay thing, then okay, whatever. 

Jerry leaves to get out of his pants in the bathroom. It makes Charley feel kind of used, but realistically, he doesn’t know if he could handle seeing Jerry’s big, wet dick without some kind of longterm trauma. He’s still processing the last ten minutes; who knows what that kind of imagery would do to his fragile mind right now.

He puts himself back together as well as he can; his pants and underwear are on the floor and that just reminds him of how Jerry had taken them off without a second thought, and the blood still in his body rushes to his head to make him flush.

Jerry comes back in a clean pair of boxers as Charley’s zipping himself back up. It feels eerily like they’ve just had a one night stand, even though it wasn’t overnight or the first time he’s come over to let Jerry feed. _That’s_ never happened before, though, no matter how many boners he’s popped from Jerry being too touchy.

He just stands at the doorway, and then gestures to his hallway.

“If you can walk, you can go.”

It sounds not-so-vaguely like a threat, but Charley manages to keep balanced on his shaky legs long enough to get down his stairs and back to his own porch.

He stumbles onto his front step and sits once he doesn’t feel like Jerry is still watching him.

…This can’t happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> did you know you can find me on [tumblr](http://sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com/ao3direct)? : O


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